Blast from the Past
by Calliecature
Summary: Post-war, 1945: after discovering he's adopted AND a toon, Roger Rabbit sets off to Toontown with more than literal baggage. Read and find out how Roger became the rabbit that we all know. This is the story after "Prologue: Blast from the Past."
1. Happy Birthday, Son

**Title: Blast from the Past**

**Summary: **Post-war, 1945: after discovering he's adopted AND a toon, Roger Rabbit sets off to Toontown with more than literal baggage. Read and find out how Roger became the rabbit that we all know. This is the story after "Prologue: Blast from the Past."

**Author's Notes: **This is supposed to take after Wiki's supposed WFRR prequel. If you've read the prologue, you'd know Roger is about to tell Jessica his story. This is that story.

For **Starwanker**, thanks.

**XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO**

**Chapter 1: Happy Birthday, Son**

"They're your parents."

It was supposed to be a question but it came out as a statement.

"Yup," Roger replied as they sat side by side, looking at his family picture.

Jessica stared at the happiness simply radiating from the father, the mother and the child. She simply had no qualms of being a Drawn, but she still felt a stab of jealousy in looking at the picture.

Roger's voice cut through her thoughts. "Go on, say it."

"Hmm?" Jessica's hair swept across her cheek. She tucked it again behind her ear as she looked at him.

The rabbit good-naturedly rolled his eyes. "The 'I-think-I-_sthee_-a-family-resemblance joke' or _sthomething_ along that line."

She blinked her emerald eyes. "Roger, why would I say that? You don't look like your father and your mother is very beautiful."

"Oooooww!"Roger clasped an imaginary dagger on his chest. He put his hands on his hips; leaning forward with narrowed eyes but with lips quirked into a playful grin. "I knew there _wasth_ a comedienne hiding behind the diva!"

Jessica's cool smile contrasted with the sudden rush of flush that coursed through her. Rarely was she praised on her humor.

Meanwhile, Roger had carefully placed the picture frame back on the coffee table and was looking at it with a thoughtful expression.

She shook her head, trying to get her pulse back to normal. Her smile won't go away though. He didn't usually smile so… daringly.

"Well, I do look a bit different from my parents."

Jessica raised a brow.

"Alright, a lot," Roger said, opening a can of coke and giving it to her.

She took the can. "At least they didn't have to tell you you were adopted. It's right there."

"Actually…"

**XOXOXOXOXOXO**

_Post-war, 1945_

He should have known he was adopted.

Roger sighed as he looked out of the train window. Trees, farms, cows whizzed by faster than churning butter. The next moment, there was nothing but fields and the sky. They all blurred to him in a pattern of blue and brown that his eyes weren't seeing at all.

It had been his 18th birthday when they told him. After the candles were blown, after the gifts were unwrapped, they dropped the bomb on him. Well, they didn't, actually. They were a bit distracted during the cozy little party they gave him. Roger guessed it was because they were worried about him moving out. Ma kept wringing her hands when she thought he wasn't looking. Pa had some tightness in the corners of his mouth that he kept hiding unsuccessfully with enthusiasm.

The train jolted, snapping him out of his reverie. He shook his head, looked around and remembered why he was on the train in the first place.

He wanted to tell them that he wasn't planning to move out. He wanted to stay and help in the farm. Ma had been a nervous wreck during the war, having her brothers drafted.

During those months, she kept singing happy songs. But they weren't sung happily. They were sung quietly like prayers to ward off demons of fear.

Now that the war was over, people were trying to move on and so were they. But before he could tell them that, Pa took a deep breath and said, "Son, there's something we have to tell you."

His eyes stayed fixed somewhere on the horizon. Pa's baritone kept rambling inside his head, the conversation repeating over and over again.

"_Son, we just wanted to tell you," he ran his hand over his salt-and-paper hair. "W-we love you. A lot. You've made us both proud. But you need to know." _

"_Remember that we'll always love you, honey!" Ma had said. Roger cocked an ear at the tinge of pleading in her voice. He beamed at her reassuringly._

"_I know, Ma! I'll always love you two!... too?"_

_Ma's face suddenly scrunched up like she's trying not to cry. Roger got a sinking feeling that he had just made her feel worse. Pa kept running his hand over his hair so much it started sticking out in the back._

"_Your Ma and I think you're old enough to know, son. Lord knows we've kept it from you for so long. You've never asked and we just went with it. How did you grow up so fast, Roger? It seems like only yesterday when you were running around with armfuls of daisies. You used to carry around your teddy bear and asking why it isn't called 'beddy bear'. Then there was your first winter walk and you were enjoying the cold so much you took off your clothes and-"_

"_Pa! What are you going to tell me?"_

_Snapped out of his rambling, his father just blurted it out._

"_You're adopted, Roger."_

A slap was heard inside the carriage of the train and Roger slowly dragged his hand down from his face.

He had been such a fool.

_Roger stared at them. "What?"_

_Pa fixed him a steady gaze and Roger felt his hurt, it had to be real. "We're not your real parents."_

"_But we still love you and we always will," Ma said hurriedly, as though she's afraid that he's going to run or yell or ignite or something. _

_They can't be telling him this. They must be joking. He looked at them from across the table. They seem to be holding each other for support and both were looking at him expectantly._

_He looked back with the same expectations, waiting for them to say "Surprise! Haha! We're just joking son! Got you, didnt we__?_"

_But his parents were never the type to prank.  
_

_The world suddenly became smaller as realization swallowed him._

"_Roger?" his mother ventured._

_He can hardly hear her. His head buzzed like a firecracker just exploded too near his ears. He's not in there in the kitchen with his parents. He's Alice and he's falling down the rabbit hole. They're saying something but they sound far away. He can't be adopted. He had lived with them his entire life. There must be some kind of a mistake. They can't be serious. His throat let out a spasm that could have been a choke or a chuckle._

"_Roger, honey. Say something, please!" _

_Roger jerked and looked at them as though realizing they were there. Vaguely, he could feel his mother's hands clutching his. _

"_Wha..?"_

"_Listen, Roger," her voice amazingly calm. "This doesn't change anything at all. We're still your parents. You're still our son," his mother said, gripping his hands tighter across the table._

_It doesn't?_

_Roger looked down on their hands. Pale hands of flesh and skin gripping hands of white fur. Something was crumbling down. The world was crumbling down. Everything he knew was crumbling down. He should have known. He should have known._

_He wordlessly slipped from his chair. The world, for some reason, was spinning. Both of his parents rose from their chairs, lines creasing their faces. Their mouths were moving but he can hardly hear them. He backed away from them with feet that are too big. His parents' feet are small and shoed. Unconsciously, he grabbed his ears. Ears. His ears are too long. They're not his Ma or Pa's ears. His mouth began to move but his throat felt obstructed._

"_Who?..." he croaked, "Where?... How?"_

_His mother rushed at his side and knelt beside him. She had to. Roger never grew above 4 feet if you include his ears. Unlike them who looked so tall._

"_We don't know, honey. We just found you."_

_She was leaving something out. He knew his mother too well._

"_Where?"_

"_On our doorstep."_

_A sting went through him from those strangers –no, his real parents who just left him. _

Roger shook his head. His gaze fixed not on the horizon anymore but on his hand. It was like any other hand except for the fur. Sensitive pink pads line the tips of his fingers and palm. He scowled at it.

He should have known he was adopted. The truth never had to stare at him in the face because it was blindingly obvious. He remembered asking Ma as a little boy why he looked so different.

_Boing! "Mama!"_

_Boing! "Mama!"_

_Boing! "Mama!"_

_Every bounce of his feet sent him nearly up to her eye-level as he called for her attention in midair. He can see the amused quirk of her lips as she glanced up in the middle of preparing dinner._

"_Yes, Roger darling?" Ma asked, giving him a glance while he perpetually bounced at her side._

_Boing! He hangs in midair. "Why am I hairy?"_

_Boing! He appears again, stretching his ears to full length. "Why do I have long ears?"_

_Boing! He was now holding out his feet. "Why are my feet big?" _

_His mother finally caught him in midbounce and with a huge smile, she spoke._

"_Because you were born that way!"_

_And he never asked again._

His ears flop over and Roger looked up, staring at them. Later on, he just thought he's got a few defects. They have a neighbor with a lazy eye. A shop keeper with one leg shorter than the other. Even a mechanic with extra toes on both feet. So what if he had long ears? Plus, their surname is Rabbit, it just made sense.

To him, anyway.

He looked around and the less ruder people turned their gaze away. The conductor had taken one look at him and pointed him to the rail cars for coloreds. Even to the segregated, he must have looked strange. No wonder the townspeople were wary of him. They kept looking at him like he was about to do something awful.

_A sleepless night and a restless day after, Roger finally spoke at the dinner table. _

"_I'm going to find my bi'logical parents."_

_Ma and Pa both looked up but Roger avoided looking at his mother. He won't be able to bear the look on her face. _

"_But I'm going to need your help," he continued, "Do you know where I can find them?"_

_They both looked at each other and Roger gripped his spoon tighter. It was the look of a silent conversation. What else were they keeping from him_?

_His father finally looked at him. "We have an idea, son. But there is something we have to tell you."_

_Not again._

"_Roger, do you know why you looked different?"_

"_Because you're not my real parents," he said dully. He regretted it the moment the words left of his mouth. He felt, rather than saw, his mother flinched. _

"_Sorry," he mumbled, shamefaced._

_His father ignored it. "Why you looked so different from everyone else?"_

_Roger shrugged. _Does it matter?

_Pa rose from the table, wiping with his napkin. "Come to the living room, Roger."_

Roger finally resorted to putting a scarf over his mouth and nose, pulling up the collar of his coat. He jammed his hands inside his gloves. His newsboy cap still exposed too much so he put a scarf underneath like earflaps. His ears can be mistaken for earflaps themselves. But for some reason, his fur cannot be mistaken for animal pelt. People would notice.

His ears felt cramp and begging to move inside his cap. But he's getting tired of the stares already. More people came inside the carriage. He looked down on his large floppy feet. Too bad he can't do anything about them.

"_You're a toon, Roger."_

_He had heard about that. People muttered the word when they thought they couldn't hear him. Wasn't it obvious his long ears weren't just for decorations? Around them were magazines, newly bought. Pa flipped page after page with Roger beside them._

"_You're different from us. Very different." His pipe clacked against his teeth. "Problem is, I can't explain how different."_

_His fingers stopped at a picture of what looks like three birds dancing with a girl in a strange dress. His father gave the three birds a tap. Beneath the picture, the words _The Three Caballeros_ were smacked in the middle._

"_They're toons just like you."_

_Roger stared hard at them, trying to understand. "But they look like birds."_

"_Not just any birds," Pa said. "Here's another one."_

_He tapped his pipe on a photo of a two-feet tall toon shaking a man's hand. _

_Roger's head tilted to the side. "He looks like a mouse," he said, staring at the toon's round large ears. A pattern was beginning to set. He lifted the page back to the Caballeros and back to the mouse. For a moment, he stole a glance at himself._

_He looked back at the pictures. "I look like a rabbit. He looks like a mouse. They're birds." He looked up to his parents, quizzically. "So toons are people who look like animals?" _

_Should he feel something from the comparison? _

"_Not really," Pa answered, frowning at his words. _

_Another page showed a marquee bearing the word "Popeye." The picture caught the midst of activity but in the center is a large burly man with a barreled chest. His body wasso big; his head looks small in comparison. Beside him was a sailor with forearms and fists that look swollen._

_This time, Roger's eyes widened. "They look different."_

_Pa slid a photo still of the three birds and the girl on the coffee table. He then placed a painted poster of their movie._

"_Noticed how the girl looked different in the movie poster? Toons look the same in both photos and paintings. They're just easier to capture their image."_

_Roger stared at the toons. Were toons like a different race? Like Negros or Germans or Japanese? _

"_So toons can look like animals or hu-"_

_He stopped, his eyes widening. His insides froze as the realization crashed on him like a sledgehammer on ice. Somewhere in the haze, he heard Pa's concerned voice._

"_Roger?"_

_He whipped his head towards his father and he saw him flinch. From what? The shock radiating from him? The hint of betrayal or was it accusation in his face?_

"_Are they human?" _

_Silence._

"_Am I human?" he demanded. He never expected he'd talked to any of them this way._ Is this why Pa said it's hard for him to explain? Son, you're not human?

_He suddenly felt his stomach roil. The room began to spin. He wanted to vomit. It all made sense now. He's not hairy. It's fur. His ears are not too long. They're just right. His feet aren't abnormal. They're perfect. They're perfect for an actual-_

"_Roger!"_

_A pair of hands grabbed him by the shoulders and he snapped back to reality. He blinked and found himself staring at his mother's chestnut eyes. She had been sitting there quietly as Roger and Pa talked._

"_Toons are people too. Don't you ever forget that._" _Sweet, gentle Ma was now giving him her iron glare that leaves no place for an argument._

The train whistled, shaking him out of his mother's clear eyes. His stop. It was late. How long had he been staring at the window? He didn't even noticed the sun go down, much less noticed that dinner time had passed.

He grabbed his rucksack and ambled out of the train, coughing from the steam.

_Her face transforms into a smile. Roger stood, transfixed, as unshed tears, sadness and the love that was always there made her eyes twinkle like stars; it almost broke his heart. Her fingers slowly unclasp his shoulders as though she's letting him go in more ways than one._

"_If you want to find your real parents, your best luck is ToonTown."_

**XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO**

**Author's Notes**: According to Wiki, the prequel they were planning was Roger being adopted in a parody of Superman, grows up in Kansas and finds out he's a toon by 18 years old. He then looks for his mother in Toontown. The movie was supposed to happen during World War 2.

This story follows the same vein only it happens a few months after the war. In here, he hasn't met Jessica yet because I think Roger has a lot more to _become_ first. For some reason, something's pushing me to write this –since last year! Be prepared for the ride, boys and girls.

Photo still of the Three Caballeros: media. liveauctiongroup i/8886 /10148512_2. jpg?v=8CD7D0ADCE55530

Painted movie poster of the Three Caballeros: www. dominiquebesson photos_gm/ trois-caballeros-belge. jpg

P.S.: Eeyup, Roger in here is a Mama's boy. Whenever I try to imagine Roger as somebody's child, I can't imagine him being an eldest. Sure he takes care of Baby Herman in their show. But he doesn't strike me as the type who grows up having the responsibility of raising a kid while being a kid himself. Nor does he strike me as the baby of the family. He could be a middle child but let's stick with him being the only child in here. How about you? What do you think?


	2. A Crash Course in Looney Lane

**Chapter 2: A Crash Course in Looney Lane**

"It turned out; my birthday was the day they actually found me." Roger shot a glance to their family picture. "There was nothing in the basket that indicated any clues about my parents –just non-toon blankets."

He looked away. "Sometimes I wonder if there is something wrong with me."

Jessica stared at her friend but his gaze was transfixed somewhere on the coffee table.

"I should have known I'm too different. Instead, I just thought I got a bunch of gen'tic defects. In fact, I should have paid more attention to the people muttering about me." He paused, before continuing.

"Ma and Pa didn't seem to care how, so I didn't too," Roger said, hugging his knees. He pointedly didn't look at Jessica, his ears deflating at the sides of his head. Why did he doubt his sanity then get defensive of himself? There really was something wrong with him.

Jessica put a hand on his shoulder.

"It can be overwhelming, seeing what you see as normal for a long time, wasn't actually normal," she said quietly, remembering a shadier world in the business of animation.

Roger shrugged and smiled, capping back his optimism. He willed his ears up again. "It was shocking for me but given time, any person would get used to anything!"

He heaved the photo album on his lap. Jessica realized that it was more like a scrapbook than a photo album.

He opened them to the first page.

"Oh," Jessica said, her eyes widening with recognition.

Roger nodded. "Yeah, they're the first friends I made in Toontown."

"How did you meet them?"

The rabbit traced the edges of the photo with a reminiscing laugh. "They almost ran into me."

**XOXOXOXOXOXO**

After traveling by third-class train carriages, the night service tramcars were more comfortable. He was again pointed to the Colored's section. Since not a lot of people travel late; at least he didn't have to give his seat to a white man. Roger rubbed his eyes. He couldn't sleep well in both train and tram. He got too paranoid with the stares he was accumulating. Weren't toons supposed to be common near Hollywood or something?

He got off the tram near the Acme Factory. According to the map on Pa's magazine, Toontown was near it.

Now what?

One of the gates of Acme Factory opened. Rabbit ears perked up underneath his hat at the sight of a truck unlike any other truck he had seen (and he had seen a lot, growing up in the farm).

"Acme Toon Truck," he read aloud to himself as it slowly began to stir to the left. Without further ado, Roger ran after it.

He's not a sprinter but he knew he's faster than most people. He pumped his feet, his breath quickening.

With a bound, his hand snatched the truck's cold door handle.

"WHOO-HOO!" he exclaimed before slapping a hand on his mouth. He shifted his feet on the small step and hoped the driver won't get suspicious.

He studied what he could of the truck he was hitchhiking on. It felt cool, like metal. But its body doesn't gleam like one in the moonlight. In fact, it looked dull. Was this made from toon metal? Was there even such a thing?

He looked up to the stars. Too bad he can't see where they're going.

Roger gasped when everything went dark. A tunnel. They're crossing a tunnel. At least he thought so.

Then as suddenly as it went dark, everything was light again. Roger's eyes bugged.

"Whoa," he whispered.

As far as the eye can see, it was plains and valleys everywhere. Trees and flowers droop together, sleeping. The animals curled under rocks and trees were still. Everything breathed in and out rhythmically in symphony, a rhythm of snores whispering faint in the air.

Roger watched as he saw a teaspoon laughed at the cow jumping over the moon.

"Jeepers…"

His entire vision was suddenly replaced with buildings, billboards and more buildings. Roger looked around. They must be in the heart of the town.

The truck passed by a lane and Roger hopped off. He stretched his arms, looking at his surroundings. He froze before slapping a hand on his forehead. He should have hopped off at the busiest section of the town. That way, he could ask for available places to stay overnight.

He shrugged, deciding it was no big deal. All he had to do is follow the sidewalk where the roads run the busiest and hopefully avoid getting mugged or getting hit by a-

Beep! BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEPPPP!

Roger's eyes widen and he froze at the incoming blast of light. He leapt! Metal grazed the fabric of his pants.

"Oomph!"

His shoulder crashed unto the pavement and he rolled away to safety, the alkaline taste of dirt spreading into his mouth.

CRASH!

He lay there, heaving. Roger tried to calm his heart from leaping out of his mouth with the contents of his empty stomach following. He forced his rapid, shallow breathing to slow down, willing his chest to expand slowly and evenly. When he was sure his body wasn't going to do what it was threatening to do, he raised his head to spit out the rubble on his mouth, rubbing his tongue on the sleeve of his coat.

As the ringing of his ears slowly succumbed, he could hear a car door creak and several voices.

"Sufferin' Succotash! I knew we shouldn't have let you drive!" The speaker's voice was nearly spitting out the "S".

"Like you could do it better? Two words, _Sthylvether_," another replied. "Tweeeeeting _birdSTH!,_" he spat. Roger can practically imagine the huge glop of spit that came out with the latter word.

The shock of near-death experience began to wear off, leaving Roger with only the _slightest_ irritation. He almost didn't last three minutes in Toontown because of them.

"Oh yeah? You're _desthhhpicable_!" the other one shot back. "Right, Wile?"

"That's my line!"

"HEY!"

The owners of the voices whipped their heads around to see a bundle of human clothes stumbling up to stand. Roger's cap lay askew over his eyes and he angrily yanked it off, bunny ears springing into freedom. He savagely jerked off his scarf, revealing a very livid face.

"Are you all loonies?! I could have been killed!"

Now that Roger can see them, he realized what they look like. One looked like a black duck, another one is a black-and-white cat with a red nose and the last one… he was most certain was a coyote. The smoking car, or what was left of it, was crunched against the crumbling wall –where he had just been passing by.

Silence stretched between him and the strangers.

Then the trio collapsed into fits of reckless laughter.

Or rather, the duck started pounding the floor in cachinnation while the cat writhed on the ground, clutching his stomach. The coyote only gave a small sardonic smile and shook his head.

Roger stared at them in disbelief. They're crazier than he thought.

The duck sat up long enough to talk. "You sounded so serious, I thought you weren't joking! WHOO-HOO-HOO! HAHA!" He gasped before falling on the floor again in hysterical laughter.

They _are_ crazier than he thought.

Moral outrage dissipating, he simply turned his back on them and walked away. He had more important matters to attend to.

A blur zips in front of him and Roger halted in surprise. The duck leaned on him with one arm thrown across his shoulders.

"_Ssstthhaaaay_, Pedro!" the duck said, leaning so close, he tipped down his bill so that their faces are almost touching. "What's up with these," he plucked the sleeve of Roger's coat with his fingers (or were they feathers?), "_Tweedsssth_?"

Roger stepped back from the sudden intrusion of his personal space. "What about it?" he asked, distracted. For the first time, he realized that these people weren't wearing any clothes.

Yet, the duck fluidly step in time of his backing away. Roger stepped back and pretty soon, they look like they were doing an uncomfortable version of Tango.

"You look like a human dressed you. What's the matter, Jeeves?" His tone jerked into fast and aggressive and he started poking him at the chest. "Your artist is too cheap to draw you clothes or something?! Huh? Huh?! HUH?! "

Roger finally sidestepped away from him. Daffy splatted down on the ground.

"I gotta go," Roger quickly mumbled, slinging his pack closer to him. _Rule number 33, _Pa said, _stay away from crazy people._

Then he stopped as though debating with himself before turning around to ask.

"Do any of you know a place to stay?"

The three looked at each other, each mirroring each other's confusion.

The coyote raised a brow at the two, the duck shook his head at them and the cat shrugged.

The coyote opened his hands at them and the duck shook his head with more vigor. They both looked at the cat who pointed at himself questioning disbelief.

The duck folded his arms, the coyote tilted his head and the cat threw up his mitts exasperatedly.

Roger looked at them strangely; it was like wordless conversation using only their tics.

"You're obviously new in here," the cat finally said. "How about _thisth_? For almost running you over, we buy you a drink?"

The cat must have seen the hesitation in his eyes so he mustered his most amiable smile.

"Don't you want to ask us locals about Toontown?"

The duck quietly slipped on his loony grin over his smirk; the rabbit obviously didn't know who they are.

**XOXOXOXOXOXOX**

Roger sat uncomfortably on his chair. He heard about bars but he never knew one was open this late. His fingers play with his glass of lemonade.

The cat, who introduced himself as Sylvester, was doing the same with his rootbeer, glaring at both the coyote and the duck.

The coyote, who was said to be Wile, paid him no mind and calmly sipped his tomato juice.

The duck, who shook Roger's hand so vigorously that it wobbled long after the handshake was done, said his name was Daffy. Daffy sat on his chair teetering dangerously on its hind legs. With his head tilted back and his orange feet on the table; he spurted his soda like a fountain.

Roger wondered why they just left their car like that but he saw the duck put a card on the windshield –wherever he was keeping it.

"_Stho_," Sylvester said, shifting his shoulders with his tongue sticking out. He obviously was not used to leading a conversation. "Who made ya?"

Roger looked at him, baffled. What on earth was he talking about? Religion?

"It's kinda hard to tell but it's obviously not the big guys or you wouldn't be walking around with those duds," he continued, waving his mitt on Roger's clothes.

"But other toons wear clothes," Roger said, remembering the pictures he had seen with his Pa.

One of the cat's ears twitched. "Why do you talk so quietly?"

Roger hunched his shoulders, uncomfortably looking down at his lemonade. He sipped before speaking. "_Becauthe_."

"A _listhp_ too, huh?" Sylvester made a raspberry, waving his mitt. "_Puh-leeasthe, _Daffy and I had been _listhping_ our whole lives!" He put his hands on his hips. "What are you ashamed about, anyway? _Sthally_ _sthells_ _stheashells_ on the _stheashore_!" he declared.

Roger politely dodged the fleet of flying spit. The cat leaned forward by his elbow on the table.

"Now back to what you've said. Toons wear toon clothes," Sylevster explained patiently as though he's talking to a child. "Human clothes don't survive being ripped, smashed and exploded."

Pa once explained to Roger about culture shock. It sounded like the residents of Toontown suffer from grave dangers. But the cat with the red nose sipped his rootbeer as though he just talked about getting up this morning.

Roger looked down on his clothes. His clothes look normal. He looked around at the other patrons. Some were wearing clothes but… they look different. Was it the fabric?

"How old are you, anyway?"

Roger's brows furrow deeper. He thought it was rude to ask someone's age since a lot of people were bothered by it. At least, that's how it was in his town.

"A day? Three days? They're supposed to be responsible in making arrangements for you. Why did they transfer you here this late?" Sylvester asked, suddenly producing a nail file.

Roger's ear cocked at the sight of the gadget. _Where was he keeping that? _He cleared his throat, deciding to answer the question he knew the answer of.

"I'm eighteen."

"Eighteen hours? Eighteen days? That's a very long time before you got transferred," Sylvester said, filing his nails.

"I'm eighteen years old," he said, his face brazen with frank confusion.

Daffy suddenly choked in the middle of gurgling "Carolina in the Morning", splattering them all with spit and soda. Wile's jaw dropped on the table in a horrifying proportion that Roger stared at it, fascinated. A yowl of pain cut through the air and Sylvester was holding his paw with claws abruptly reduced to stubs.

"YOU'RE WHAT?!" Sylvester hollered, rising on his chair and spraying spit everywhere. Roger sank low on his chair, ducking from his body fluids. It looked like he answered the question wrong.

"I'm eighteen; I grew up in _Kansasth_ with my Ma and Pa-"

"IN _KANSASTH_?! WITH YOUR-" Wile grabbed Sylvester by the muzzle so that his lower face was fisted like rubber, making his red nose bulge.

Roger's eyes widened at the sight of his facial contortion.

The coyote yanked him down and gave him a look. That seemed to calm Sylvester down and Wile let go. They both looked around but the other barflies were either passed out or too sullen to care.

"Jeepers! Are you two okay?" Roger asked with concern. "You looked like you dislocated your jaw for a moment," he said, catching the coyote's eye. "And your face," he winced, looking at the cat whose face had snapped back to normal, "That looked like it hurts."

Confused silence was their only response.

Roger tilted his head to one side and the trio subconsciously mirrored him. They looked at the rabbit's human clothes. They looked at the honest, young face; the eyes holding a gleam of naivety yet untouched by the world. A boy from a small town –in a body of a rabbit.

Finally, Sylvester spoke out, his voice slow with dawning realization.

"You don't know how to toon? Do you?"

Before Roger can ask what he meant by that, Daffy's peppy voice cut through the air.

"Hey buddy! Aren't ya goin' to finish yer drink? Geez! So _wastheful_!"

Roger looked at the duck, who was casually inspecting his fingernails (or were they feathertips?) as though he hadn't spoken. He grabbed his glass and tossed the contents inside his mouth in one gulp.

Roger dropped the glass as his whole body started to quiver.

_What's happening?_

His head started to buzz, the room swirled and blurred. It suddenly felt hot. His whole body burned with fire in a summer field. Numbly, he can hear himself making spastic sounds.

Sylvester, Wile and Daffy stared with awe as his eyes turned into rainbow swirls and his white fur purpled, then greened and suddenly turned a bright shade of red like a pitcher being filled with neon red juice. The rabbit began to quake, his cheeks ballooned and they all backed away from the table.

Everyone ducked, covering their ears as the rabbit shoot up to the ceiling, screeching a song of a steam-powered engine. Fliers and tissues whirled around the bar with Roger as the eye of the storm, steam pouring out of his mouth and ears. Bottles shattered on the shelves, shot glasses exploded into shards and windowpanes cracked and burst into smithereens as the high pitched whistle achieved frequencies no human could bear.

In the midst of it all, Daffy calmly stood there and watched; his feathers ruffling against the wind. Grim eyes surveyed the rabbit's effect.

Never had he seen anyone with such raw tooniness.

Suddenly, it ended abruptly as it happened. Roger crashed unceremoniously back to his chair, his face high-fiving the table with a bang.

A pulse of silence after a storm. Sylvester and Wile slowly stood up and joined Daffy. The duck was still looking at Roger as though he's a specimen for a scientific experiment.

"Did you just _sthpike_ his drink?" Sylvester whispered.

Roger groaned; feeling like a sledgehammer was wedged into his skull. He can hear their voices. If only the room would stop spinning.

Daffy put one hand on his chin. "He can toon," he decided.

In a flash, Roger found himself high up in the air, effortlessly lifted by Daffy over his head.

"Hey! What are you-"

CRASH!

Daffy didn't drop him. He slammed him flat against the floor. The trio watched for any reaction but Roger lay unmoving and crumpled.

The duck continued to objectively observe him as though he had just prodded him with a stick.

"But he doesn't know how."

The rabbit finally lifted himself up feeling anything but happy. His eyes were stinging from pain. His body ached and his head felt hammered.

These people were officially crazy _and _abusive.

"You know what? I'll manage, thank you," he said irritably, grabbing his pack and trying not to hobble out of the bar.

"Wait! Roger!"

Roger did not wait. He briskly walked, trying to put as much distance between him and them. The cross road was empty and he walked across.

Big mistake.

The roads were suddenly filled with zooming trucks and cars in every direction. Roger stood stock still, his head whipping at every blur that passed him.

BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEPPP!

Roger tumbled to the side, a humungous tire seconds from where he stood. A car screeched at him, making his ears curdle and he rolled to the other side. His head spun as his sensitive ears quivered and curled against the beeping, the honking and the blasting of horns.

The trio watched in horror as he fumbled through the road.

Sylvester grabbed Daffy by the feathers on his collarbone. "He's going to literally die and go to toon heaven unless we do something!"

Roger stumbled through the speeding hazes and smoke. He's going to die in here, if not land in a hospital with insurmountable pain.

_I'm sorry, Ma and P-_

"Oof!"

Something had hit him. Roger shut his eyes, certain he at least been granted a painless death. He waited. And waited. When nothing happened, his cracked one eye open.

Black feathers and a jaded face welcomed his vision. Roger gaped at him. He then realized that he was back in the sidewalk in Daffy's arms, being carried as though he weighs nothing.

But it was the look on Daffy's eyes that caught his attention. No longer are they manic or goofy. Instead, they were shrewd. They were calculating. His dark irises reflected Roger's shock expression.

"How did you –oof!"

Daffy tossed him back to the ground. Roger sat stock still, his heart still thumping fast from his second brush with death. These people were rubbery, freakishly fast and cuckoo. What would become of him if every toon were like them?

The duck spoke, his voice calm as though he had been acting sane the whole time. "If you're going to stay in Toontown, you'll need to know how to toon."

The sun began to rose behind him; casting him, Sylvester and Wile with glows and tall shadows.

"Come with _usth,_" he continued.

Roger dusted himself off. "No."

The duck raised a brow. So much for the dramatic sunrise scenery. This guy obviously didn't know who they were, where he was and what they were capable of.

What himself was capable of.

The rabbit shifted his pack before glaring at him. "You almost clipped me with your car, you _sthpiked_ my drink with whatever you put in it-"

"Giggle water," was the offhand reply.

"-alcohol doesn't do that to anybody! And you splat me on the floor for no reason at all!" Roger stopped, took a deep breath like Ma would do when her patience was running thin.

"I don't know how you _sthaved_ my life but thank you but no thank you." He turned his back on the duck, ready to get away from them all. _ Only a loony would follow them-_

"My apologies," a new voice said. Roger whipped his head around. The voice sounded smooth and deep. Surprise halted his exit when he realized that it was coming from the coyote.

"We did not mean to cause you so much distress. However, not all of us are like our friend here. May you listen first for what I have to say?"

Roger stared at him, stunned. He sounded like a book and a posh restaurant rolled into one. However, the coyote stood with elegant self-assurance despite the scruffy brown coat. Cunning, yellow eyes smiled at him as he held out his hand to Roger.

"Wile E. Coyote –super genius. You are looking for a place to stay, are you not?"

Roger looked at him in confusion. He casted a furtive glance at Daffy whose face was unreadable. There is a saying about birds of the same feather.

Wile saw his brows furrowed, his hand clutched the strap of his pack tighter as he opened his mouth to speak.

**XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO**

**Author's Notes: **

Here are the timelines of the new characters when they first appeared on screen:

Daffy Duck: 1937

Sylvester the Cat: 1945

Wile E. Coyote: 1949

Some of you may argue that Wile doesn't exist yet in 1945. But understand this; they made their film debut in the above years mentioned. **If toons do exist, they may have lived and developed before hitting the theaters.**


	3. Roger's First Job in ToonTown

**Chapter Three: Roger's First Job in Toon Town**

"That was wrong of him," Jessica bluntly said.

Roger shrugged. "I _confessth_ my first alcohol experience gave me the _williesth_!"

Jessica raised a brow and Roger, for some reason, read her question easily in her eyes.

"Pa wasn't a drinker and Ma made it clear she didn't want me drinking alcohol." He scratched his head. "Come to think of it, I think they knew what alcohol does to toons."

Roger smiled at the photo where a black duck was frozen into a dance. "That time, I thought Daffy was just being a capricious creep! A jolly jerk! A beanheaded bully! A wackheaded wisecrack! A-"

Jessica gave him a gentle poke on the shoulder, snapping him out of his atrocious alliterations.

"But given enough time, you'll realize everything Daffy did was calculated."

**XOXOXOXOXO**

Roger woke up to the smell of fried eggs and toast. Coffee wafted in the air.

He rolled over and yelped with a crash.

_Good morning, gravity._

Roger groaned, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. His blurry vision slowly focused and he found himself in a wild nest of props pandemonium.

At least that was what Wile called them last night. _What are props short for, anyway?_

He turned around to make his bed before remembering Wile had set up a hammock for him.

"_I do apologize for the inconvenience," Wile said, tugging the hammock's knot tied on the pillar. "Since every part of the floor is occupied; we have to utilize every space we can –air space included."_

"_There!" he said with satisfaction at the Falconer's knot. "I am such a genius!"_

Roger glanced at the other empty hammock before turning at his surroundings. He hadn't asked, but he's pretty sure Wile lived in a storage house fit for a hoarder's dreams.

His hand smooth over a cabinet, the pink sensitive pads of his palms and fingertips feeling its surface. The metal cabinet wasn't too cold, in some way, the warehouse was heated. There is no dust indicating Wile definitely lived here.

Everything that could exist seems to have been pushed inside as though to fill the warehouse to the brim. Cars, chairs, boulders, safes, anvils, cactuses, rubber chicke-

"Good morning, ol' chap," Wile said, poking his head out of a section of the room. He waved a hand to his left. "Bathroom's there, breakfast here, and catastrophe everywhere. On you go!"

Another thing about Wile, he sounded like an English man (if radio voices were to be believed) even though Roger was pretty sure there were coyotes in Mexico, America and Canada only (if his childhood animal books were correct).

After washing up, Roger awkwardly sat down in the kitchen table. Wile hid an amused smile as the rabbit tried not to gawk at the stove, the oven and pretty much everything.

"It's obvious you've never seen toon appliances before," Wile remarked. The kettle whistled in agreement.

"I'm pretty sure our toaster doesn't stare at me when I eat," Roger replied, tilting his head as the toaster blinked at him. He lifted his mug which grinned at him. "Are these toons too?"

Wile shook his head. "My boy, you have a lot to learn."

They ate in silence. Roger was relieved that at least his toast doesn't have a face. If he eats a meal with a face, would that mean he would be biting its eyeball in the process?

He casted another glance around him once more. If he closed his eyes, it would feel like any other kitchen. The warm coffee smell, the clinking spoon as it stirred inside the mug, a radio chatting up a symphony in the homey atmosphere.

But everything looked different even though everything's the same. Roger frowned at his mug. He couldn't put a finger on it. It's not just the appliances and wares making faces at him.

"I do apologize for the mess, Roger," Wile said. "The company said I could have a flat or a facility –but not both."

The rabbit waved off his apology with his ears.

"Thanks for letting me stay and for the meal, Wile."

The coyote gestured him with his cup of coffee as he chewed.

"Hey," Roger said, "Do you know anyone who is looking for a hired hand?"

Pa said the best plans are the simplest, so his plan was this: 1.) Find a job, 2.) Find a place to stay and 3.) Look for his parents. Today was a good time to start; he'd rather not to impose on Wile.

The coyote paused, racking his mind. He shook his head.

Roger shrugged. He could always ask around. With the war over, jobs were abounding.

"Wile," Roger asked, warming his hands on his mug. "How come you hardly talk last night?"

The coyote drank down his coffee. "It's an artistic statement."

When Roger continued to stare at him, he sighed. "It's because I'm a man of action," he explained patiently.

Roger's whiskers twitched. "Really?" he asked, suddenly curious of what toons do in Toontown. Was it the same as in Kansas? "What do you do?"

Wile's yellow eyes swivelled to him and Roger suddenly saw something akin to a spark in them.

"What do I do?" the coyote asked, slowly rising from his chair. "Let me show you around!"

Before he knew it, Roger was swiftly yanked off his chair and dragged away. He looked at the coyote pulling him effortlessly, bewildered. For someone who looked like fur and bones, he had a surprisingly strong arm.

"Since the dawn of mankind, man had been obsessively painting on cave walls, jars and temples, trying to imitate life –imprint it. Jump forward to 1900s when we've got artists waking up to the very idea of actual drawings in motion like newly born babies opening their eyes for the first time-"

Wile continued to blather on but Roger wasn't paying attention. His eyes were drawn to the posters plastered on every available spot on an entire wall of the storage house.

Large fonts and enlarged characters tried to fight for his attention only to be upstaged by another. Felix the Cat Uses his Head. Steamboat Wille. Another New Popeye Comedy. Betty Boop and Bimbo.

Here and there were splashes of colored posters: Flowers and Trees, Snow White.

They were striding so fast, Roger failed to read most of them.

"Hey, is that-"

Wile looked over his shoulder to see Roger looking at "Porky's Duck Hunt."

"Ah, yes. Daffy's first film. I think he was amused that you didn't know who he was."

Roger's ears twitched. Daffy looked the size of an actual duck in 1937. That must have been some growth spurt. He tilted his head, almost with childlike wonder.

"I've heard about films. But I never watched one before."

Wile gave him a sideways smile with intelligent canine eyes. "Your town must be quite quaint. Theatre houses are abounding this days."

A glaring owner blocking the entrance, flashed inside his mind, waving him away. Angry voices of Pa and the owner echoed along with the confused sadness of the unexpected rejection.

"Something like that," Roger muttered.

He turned around to see more posters with Daffy's face in it. "So Daffy's an actor?"

"Oh, he's more than that," Wile said smoothly as he walked the length of the wall with a gentleman's grace. "Here."

Roger tilted his head at a logo of Daffy riding a flying missile with fierce determination.

"Daffy was also a 600th Bombardment Squad mascot and war veteran," Wile casually said, waltzing on with both hands on the small of his back.

Roger's jaw hung open. "Whoa..." he said, before catching up with the coyote. "But he acted so..."

Wile laughed at his reaction with a knowledgeable smile. "Looney? Don't be fooled. One doesn't become one of Mr. Schlesinger's biggest stars by being a complete and total daff."

The rabbit stared into space as his brain processed the newfound information. The manic eyes Daffy wanted him to see. The calculating stare that he finally revealed. He opened his mouth to ask-

"Oh, and here's one of Sylvester," Wile said, waving a hand on another poster.

A chuckle reverberated in Roger's throat at the image of Sylvester running away from a blue jay. "Are you also an actor, too, Wile?"

The coyote raised a brow. "Would be, but I'm in no particular hurry," he replied.

He tapped his head as they walk past by more posters.

"Now, where was I? Ah, yes. The artists mastered the craft of pictures in motion. Stop animation, comic sequences –no one came close until Winsor McCay let Gertie the Dinosaur out in the theatres in 1914! He was so close to creating life but he created a turning point for the other artists. He showed toons can _be. _Until in 1919, they finally evolved with Felix the Cat in the lead-"

Gradually, the posters bragged cartoon shorts "in technicolor." The Debut of Thomas Cat. Woody Woodpecker. Tom and Jerry. Wile was still talking when Roger finally pried his eyes away from the posters to pay attention to him.

"-they were fascinated! It was unlike anything they have encountered before! The moviehouses sold tickets like mad! Everybody wants to meet a toon! But as the artists became diverse in their talent, so did the toons. Some can do what others can't and vice versa! When Technicolor become available, people were astounded by the music, by the colors, by the sheer impossibility being possible! Roger, you have no –Roger? Roger?"

Wile whipped his head around to see that Roger was gone from his side. The rabbit was far behind.

Roger stared slack jawed and wide-eyed at the "Wild Hare" poster, its paper curling yellow with age.

The coyote walked back to him. Wile silently stood beside him as he observed Roger's expression, confused by his reaction.

"He's also a rabbit," Roger said, his voice filled with wonder.

Wile raised his eyebrows in surprise. What could have been this rabbit's life, not knowing there are others just like him?

"His name is Bugs Bunny," the coyote said in his most diplomatic voice. "One of Mr. Schlesinger's biggest stars."

Roger's ears twitched at the tone of Wile's voice. It resonated with utmost respect.

"Are there other rabbits like me?" he asked, looking at his furry hands. He never saw anyone with hands that have pink pads like his. Unless he counted their house cats. But Roger got long fingers instead of paws and claws.

Are they just as tall as him? What are the colors of their fur? Do they also have big feet?

Wile waved his hand off. "Toon woodland rabbits, anthropomorph rabbits, many. They're very popular to humans."

The coyote noted the sudden grimace appearing on Roger's face. He decided not to point it out.

"Didn't you see the other rabbit posters?" he asked, pointing at the black-and-white section. "Oh, wait. We're too far already. Here, I keep one in mint condition."

Wile suddenly produced a poster from behind him and unfurled it.

"Oscar the Lucky Rabbit in Trolley Troubles" stood brazen in large fonts as-

"Those are rabbits?" Roger asked, tilting his head. Then he grinned, "They look more like _puppiesth!_"

Wile rolled his eyes. "Don't let Mr. Oscar hear that. I heard he's been bitter ever since he was overshadowed by his little brother."

Blue eyes widen in curiosity. _Who knew there are so many rabbit toons?_ "Who?"

"Mickey Mouse," Wile replied.

Roger looked at him in confusion.

But Wile talked on as though he hadn't said anything strange. He furled the poster and it disappeared behind his back.

"As I was saying, as the artists became more diverse in their styles, so did the toons."

He began to tick off his brown furry fingers. "MGM wolves can transform into whistling steam engines to demonstrate their lust but others can't. Popeye can punch through anything but others can't. We, Warners, can shrug off almost anything but others can't. Disneys can hear an invisible beat, a rhthym, you may say, that others can't!"

His arms gesticulated in the air, "How come some toons can do what others can't? We know what we can and can't do, but how do we do it? What's the logical explanation, the mechanism behind all of it?"

Wile's head whipped towards him. Roger startled when he suddenly grabbed him by the shoulders, eyes burning with excitement.

"No one had ventured in that road before. Not even the artists! We're in the dawning age of a new era for toons; there is so much to know!"

Roger couldn't tell half of what he's saying. What do artists have to do with toons, anyway? But the fervour coming from Wile himself was infectious that he grinned excitedly himself, nodding in encouragement.

Wile led him to a curtained section. "You asked me what I do for a living."

With a dramatic flourish, the coyote yanked down a rope for the curtains to reveal a floor-to-ceiling drawing board. The green surface was almost white from chalky diagrams and equations that Roger couldn't comprehend.

Although he might have seen what looks like a stick figure being bludgeoned by what look like a fat version of a hammer.

"Jeepers!"

Wile smirked. "I'm pioneering the science of Toon Physics."

He walked inside the area and Roger followed.

"Thankfully, the Toon Town hall has permitted me to keep films inside Toon Town." He gave Roger a sidelong glance, "Human objects are not usually permitted inside Toon Town, I'm afraid. Viewing section over here." He goes to another parted section to reveal a white cloth for a screen and a battered-looking projector.

"Since the productions haven't decided yet on what role I could fit into, I'm quite happy to research and study." He puffed up his chest. "I'm not a super genius for nothing, you know."

But then his shoulders slumped and he began to pace back and forth with a hand on his chin.

"However, viewing cartoon shorts is not enough. I need a live specimen. I need other toons besides us in Leon Schlesinger's Productions. I need outside toons for comparison analysis. I need-"

Wile suddenly stood ramrod straight, his ears and tail stood erect momentarily. He looked at Roger as though suddenly seeing him for the first time.

"You."

Roger, who had been listening to his monologue, simply blinked.

"Huh?"

Wile suddenly appeared in front of him, grabbing the rabbit's shoulders. "You were looking for a job, are you not?" Wile asked, yellow eyes manic with zeal.

Roger backed away but Wile just stepped forward with his hands still on his shoulders like another uncomfortable version of Tango.

_He wasn't like Daffy, he said_, Roger thought for a second. "Um, yeah but-"

"No, you won't do. You're too imbibed in the laws of human physics!" Wile suddenly said, letting him go to pace back and forth some more.

Roger looked around to see that they have somehow walked into another section of the warehouse. He closed his eyes, inhaling.

It smells strongly of both aged books and freshly printed ones. Dust motes hang suspended in the shafts of sunlight. Books were piled high like a multitude of pillars as though a giant child had been curious how far he can stack before it falls over.

There was a springing sound like a released coil in a bed mattress when Wile stood up straight again, his ears and tail, sticking up.

"Unless!" he cried, a lightbulb appearing on top of his head.

Roger's jaw dropped from his spontaneous reactions, wondering when he could get over toon oddity. He thought he was imagining the lightbulb but Wile only tugged its little string to turn it off and it disappeared as it appeared.

Wile grinned, the excited gleam back on his yellow eyes. "That sly, old duck! He really meant for me to take you all along!"

He dusted the imaginary lint off his fur as he stood properly before the rabbit. "Roger, I have a proposition for you."

Wile waited for a moment for the old "proposition" joke to be mentioned. But Roger only looked at him in a mildly bewildered manner.

"Roger, how would you like to become my… research assistant?"

The rabbit hesitated. "What exactly would I do?"

Wile waved his hand. "Assist me in my research, clean-up after experiments, errand boy. But most important of all," his eyes gleamed as his voice grinned with innovation, "You'll be taught how to toon."

Roger tilted his head. "You guys kept mentioning that."

"Because you're capable of it! You just don't know how!" Wile cried, remembering the spiked drink incident. "You're untapped potential, Roger. It's time to for you to know what you can do! Test your limits! Break through!"

Excitement burned from the coyote's very core, the fire burning in his eyes. He smacked his fist in an open palm. "It's a win-win situation. You get to learn how to toon and I get to confirm or reject my theories. The principles that underlie in our abilities to defy human physics!"

Roger stared at him. Does tooning means being able to dodge Toon Town's crazy drivers? For that, he might be interested.

"But I'm afraid I can't pay you. Budget's low," Wile said, deflating. "But you will get free food and lodgings."

The rabbit looked unconvinced. Who wouldn't be?

"Tell you what," Wile rubbed his chin, biting his lip thoughtfully. "No strings attached. If you found a job and want to quit then you can quit. But till then you can be my research assistant… volunteer."

Roger frowned. He doesn't want to take advantage of Wile's generosity. But it doesn't seem right to work for just food and shelter. He'd need money in the future. Besides, the sooner he could find a stable job, the sooner he could find his parents.

Jaded onyx eyes stared at him from his memories, no longer foolish or manic. A voice reverberated inside his head.

_If you're going to live in Toon Town, you'll need to learn how to toon._

Could Daffy be right? He remembered the blurring vehicles, the incomprehensible traffic. If he couldn't survive simply crossing the street, how could he survive the rest of Toon Town?

Roger looked at Wile. The coyote smirked when he held up a hand.

"I'm in."

Furry white hand clasped a furry brown one and they shook. Blue eyes regarded yellow ones with equally solemn understanding.

Wile grinned, canine teeth showing. "Splendid! But first, you need to get out of those clothes."

"WHAT?!"

**XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO**

"I'm pretty sure Wile didn't intend to harass you on your first day at work," Jessica said in her most impassive voice while she restrained a quirk in her lips.

Roger rolled his eyes. "Who wouldn't react like that, anyway? He could have said I should go get some toon clothes!"

"I couldn't believe your first job in Toon Town was being a research assistant," she said.

"Tell me about it. Herman rolled off this couch, laughing."

Jessica let out a chuckle that was rarely heard outside. "Roger, I hate to interrupt. But I really need to go."

Roger glanced at the clock. "Is that the time already? Jeepers!"

"How about I come back someday this week? I'd really love to hear what happens next." Jessica stood up, her purse swinging on her arm.

"You do? Sure!" Roger hopped down the couch, bouncing to open the door for her. "How about Friday after filming?"

Jessica smirked mischievously. "It's a date."

Roger rolled his eyes. "Haha, Jessica. You really know how to pick a guy." He hopped after her. "Here, let me walk you to your car."

They walked in a companionable silence. In the dim lights, Jessica let herself smile. Silence like this was always filled with the guy furiously trying to impress her, bragging and flirting and ending up looking more foolish at the minute. But with Roger...

The rabbit was humming a tune with a hop in his step. She caught his eye and he just smiled before looking away, humming on.

Funny how people always regarded him as the idiot.

"There's just one thing I don't understand," Jessica said when they finally reached their car. "How come you didn't know how to toon before?" she asked, letting a hint of disbelief escape from her initial immense internal reaction.

Roger shrugged, "I dunno. Wile had a few theories though."

Jessica got in her car and started it.

"Well, see ya!" Roger said with a rigorous window-washer wave as though they were miles apart.

Jessica stared at him. Then much to his surprise, her hand shot out of the window and ruffled his hair. His foot reactively thump repeatedly on the ground when her fingers rubbed the spot behind his ears.

A chuckle escaped her as she retracted back her hand. Roger looked rather surprise but he just shrugged and smiled.

Jessica drove off, letting her eyes watch him disappear into a tiny dot in her rear view mirror.

She always thought tooning was instinctive. What could have happened that Roger didn't know how to toon before?


	4. Hidden, Forbidden but Unremembered

**Chapter 4: Hidden, Forbidden but Unremembered**

John's body clock woke him up at exactly five in the morning.

Bleary eyes blinked, adjusting to the purple tones of light and darkness. He immediately sat up to prevent succumbing back to the sandman's spell. A farmer always had a long day ahead of him and he got no time to waste.

His mind immediately goes to its to-do list despite the remaining sleepy haze. The tractor needed to have its oil change. But first, the cows have to run around the barn to keep warm. Roney would be coming by later to get the last load of vegetables. He must have been thinking loudly that his wife stirred beside him.

"'Morning, hon," said a voice, croaky from sleep.

John grunte-

"MAMA! PAPA!"

A squeezing sound could be heard from the door and with a "Pop!" four-year old Roger appeared.

Before both could comprehend what was going on, a little body was bouncing on the bed, shaking them to full consciousness.

"First day of school! First day of school!"

John immediately got out of bed to avoid getting sick. But all that energy squeezed in Roger's small, fluffy being made the bed bounce so hard, Diane found herself bouncing along.

"Roger!" she laughed as she sat up. Diane held out her arms and caught his weight equivalent to a basket full of chocolate Easter eggs.

A smile tugged on John's mouth. Having a surname like Rabbit wasn't easy, especially when you're a farmer. John worked hard to be taken seriously and often faced the world with the same softness of a rock.

But as the sun's first rays lit the room, it seemed like their son had taken along the sunshine with him to wake them up.

"Today's the day, right? I'm going to school, right?" he asked excitedly, eyes bright and fluffy tail swishing.

Diane exchanged the brief glance with her husband before lifting Roger up with a smile. "Yes, dear." Their son had even dressed himself up today in a red shirt and blue shorts. Since he never liked shoes, they gave up trying to make him wear one.

Their son gave an exhilarated giggle when she tossed him up. "You're going to nursery school today!" she said, rubbing her nose affectionately on his.

"C'mon-c'mon-c'mon-C'MON!" little Roger exclaimed, hopping off her arms to drag her down the stairs.

Laughing, Diane dug down her heels before Roger would become a blur with her in tow. It happened to John once and he had to lie down for half an hour to get over the shock.

"Go to the kitchen, honey. We'll be there soon," she said, plopping him outside the bedroom door.

With a whoop, their little son streaked into the kitchen with a resounding zoom.

Diane casted a glance to John over her shoulder. His mouth was set into a determined line and she knew he can see the worried lines creasing her face.

"It's going to be fine," he said.

She nodded, tying on a bathrobe over her nightgown. "Yes, it will."

Whoever they were trying to convince, they weren't sure.

**XOXOXOXOXOXO**

Roger's face was plastered against the car window.

"Honey, you're going to flatten your nose," his mother's singsong voice speaks up from the passenger seat.

Roger peeled his face off the window with a "Pop!" and squirmed excitedly on his seat.

Last week, Ma had announced that he's going to school.

"_What's a school?" he had asked._

_His Ma beamed so it must be something good. "It's a place where you can sing nursery rhymes, fingerpaint and play all day with the other kids! Wouldn't that be fun?"_

Roger bounced lively at the thought that the couch squeaked and strained. He nodded vigorously at the memory. He loved fun.

Their car screeched into a halt next to a small wooden house. Roger's eyes widen at the multitude of kids running and screeching and laughing in the grassy yard.

They all got out and Ma took his hand.

A wave of nervousness swept over him at this strange new world as they walked inside the building.

John held his head high against the stares of both parents and children. Some were stopping at what they're doing to watch them –or particularly…

"Roger," Diane said, "remember, If you need anything; just asked the teacher. She's a lady who will be with you and your classmates all day." Diane stroked his hair for moment as he looked around with wide-eyed wonder.

"Yes, Ma," he replied politely, oblivious to the stares he was gathering.

They went inside and turned to a corridor crowded with parents and children around Roger's age.

Roger's ears perked at the sound of singing. A child laughed at the sight of his cottontail swishing happily.

"You must be Mr. and Mrs. Rabbit."

A lady walked towards them. She looked down on a piece of paper she was holding and ticked it off with her pen. She shook hands with Diane and John.

"Call me Diane," Diane said warmly, "And this is John."

"I'm Claire, your son's teacher."

Internally, Claire braced herself. It was obvious who they are at a single glance.

Three weeks ago, she was informed of a special case. She had heard of a toon living near town but she never believed it. After all, a radio program said they were kept somewhere where they rightfully belong.

She kneeled down on one knee. "And this must be…" her face became confused when the toon rabbit suddenly disappeared.

Blue eyes tentatively crept up to meet hers from behind Mrs. Rabbit's legs. Two long ears swished over his head. There was a faint smell of what she could comprehend was a cocktail of paint, cinnamon and carrots.

"Hello," a small voice said. Diane gently pushed him up front and he slowly came out from his hiding, shuffling his floppy feet. His blue eyes smiled shyly up to her through large, swishy ears. "I'm Roger!"

She had to stop herself from melting over the living stuffed toy.

"He rarely gets to meet other people," Diane explained apologetically.

Claire nodded. _Big surprise in there_.

"Well, Roger" she brightly said. "Want to sing some songs with the other kids?"

Based on her experience, there were two kinds of kids. The ones who cry and refused to be moved and the ones who were brave enough to go with a friendly stranger after some coaxing from the parents.

But the little rabbit beamed like a sun and before she knew it, he had hugged and kissed his parents and dragged her inside the nursery room.

Claire stood with her limp hand connected to a bouncing kit, trying to comprehend how the world had blurred for a moment.

Gathering her wits, Claire gently pushed him to the throng of kids gathered around Brit, another teacher. Some of the kids looked at him curiously but Brit tapped her stick, getting back their attention.

"Alright kids! Who here knows Mary had a Little Lamb?"

Amidst the yells of confirmation, Clair looked back to the door. The parents lingered to watch but most were already leaving.

She took a deep breath. The supervisor had especially summoned her to tell her one clear order: Keep an eye on the toon.

Frankly, she wondered why the rabbit was allowed in the town's White school in the first place.

**XOXOXOXOXOXOXOX**

You have to be extra-patient as a teacher, Brit knew that. But it was also fun.

First, you have to show them how to sing the song. Sometimes, a line had to be repeated again and again in a loud, lilting voice to attract their little ears.

"Who knows the song, 'Do your ears hang low?'"

"Meeeee!" the children screamed.

"Okay, let's sing it!"

The air was soon colored with voices singing with gusto. Those who didn't know the song immediately caught on with the song's tune and simple lyrics.

When Brit was sure they know the song, she quieted them down.

"Okay, I want you to grab your ears –do your ears hang," she unclasp her ears and waved them down in front of her, "low?"

She waved her hands from side to side, "Do they waggle to and fro?"

"Can you tie them," she rotated her arms around each other before pulling them apart, "In a knot?"

She repeated the movements, "Can you tie them in a bow?"

"Let's do that one more time," she said to the throng of children.

"Tie them in a knot." The children swirled their arms and pulled them apart.

"Tie them in a bow!" she exclaimed in approval as the children repeated on cue.

"Can you throw them o'er your shoulder," she pretended throwing her ears over her shoulder. "Like a regimental soldier?" she sang with a salute. "Everybody salute like a soldier."

She grabbed her ears. "Do your ears hang," she threw her arms down, "low?"

Brit beamed at them. "That's very simple enough. We can all do that, can we?"

"Yeah!" the children chorused.

"Alright! Let's sing it!"

Meanwhile, Roger looked curiously at his ears, holding them at length. The song was a bit new to him.

The little tots sang with great enthusiasm, copying her movements upon her cues.

"_Do your ears hang low?_

_Do they waggle to and fro?_

_Can you tie them in a knot?_

_Can you tie them in a bow?"_

Roger bounced along with the melody, doing the actions while holding his ears. His voice soon joined in harmony with the children's voices.

_Can you put them over your shoulder like a regimental soldier?_

_Do your ears hang low?"_

Brit clapped in approval. "One more time!"

Roger beamed back among the kids, catching on with the song that was now sang with a faster tempo.

One by one, the singing children curiously turned around to a more rhapsodic voice.

"_Do your ears hang low?_

_Do they waggle through and fro?"_

Roger sang as he stretched his ears down, then it snapped up to wave in the air.

"_Can you tie them in a knot?"_

Roger's ears twisted together before tying into a ribbon on top of his head.

"_Can you tie them in a bow?"_

The children laughed. Feeling something swelling inside him, he tossed his ears backwards and marched in place before thrusting his chest with a salute.

"_Can you put them over your shoulder like a regimental soldier?"_

"_Do your ears hang low?" _the children sang back.

Brit was about to quiet them down but the children who knew the second verse continued to sing, their eyes on Roger.

"_Do your ears stand high?_

_Do they reach up to the sky?_"

Encouraged, Roger grinned and his ears cocked higher.

**XOXOXOXOXOXO**

Claire sighed as she strode through the corridor back to the Nursery Room. It was hard to use children's bathroom for having such low stools, she'd rather use the one found in the far end of the school for faculties.

The teachers who were in the ladies' room tried to get something out of her concerning her toon ward. But she just waved them off; she had enough on her plate regarding the supervisor's order. So far, nothing unusual had happened.

Happy voices singing with zest creeped out of the closed door. Nothing out of ordinary.

She opened the door for a not-so-ordinary sight to welcome her.

"_Do your ears stick out?_

_Can you waggle them about?"_

The children were festively singing and acting the song. In the midst of it all was the little toon, zipping and zooming and bouncing over their heads and everywhere –he almost turned into a pack of rabbits. Her eyes widen when his ears dance along like another pair of arms.

"_Can you flap them up and down_

_As you fly around the town?"_

The children trilled their delight when the rabbit was momentarily lifted up by his flapping ears. He bounced back singing. His arms gestured up and down to the bouncing children like a maestro as they sing along, infected by his energy.

"_Can you shut them up for sure_

_When you hear an awful bore?_

_Do your ears stick out?"_

Both grown-ups startled when a fiddle began to play along with their singing. They looked around in alarm before realizing the music was coming from the very rabbit himself like a radio.

But the children only laughed in delight as they flung their arms in melodious enactment. They all sang in gleeful harmony with Roger as the eye of the ever-growing storm of music and energy.

"_Do your ears hang low?_

_Do they waggle to and fro?_

The rabbit began to doo-wop along with the song. Claire wondered if Roger's parents were part of a closet glee club.

_Can you tie them in a knot?_

_Can you tie them in a bow?_

"Yeah!" the baby rabbit exclaimed, spinning on the spot. Merry voices sang on with fervor.

_Can you throw them o'er your shoulder_

_Like a regimental soldier?_

"Yesiree!"

_Do your ears hang low?"_

Claire and Brit got over their shock when the children collapsed, laughing. Some are still bouncing and holding their ears.

Then they all broke into an applause.

Roger stared at them with wonder as a glow began to warm him in the inside.

Their smiles, their laughter, all directed at him was changing something, turning him into something.

It was like the sun dawning inside his mind. A summer breeze lifting the kite higher and higher. The discovery of carrot cake in his taste buds.

The glow spread through him, lifting the corners of his mouth into a wide smile at the warm ovation.

He never felt so alive.

Claire watched as the little rabbit beamed and opened his arms wide as though to hug them all. Knowing toons, she'd rather not risk it.

"Break time, kids!"

**XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO**

The children sat on tiny chairs and tables.

Roger happily munched on his apple. He loved school. They even give milk.

His eyes went to the children gathered on one table across the room. He looked around, realizing he was alone on his table. The teacher had ushered him here on the table on the corner.

When he said he wanted to sit with the others, the teacher said this was his special table. It felt a bit lonely but it's okay. The teacher said they can play after Break Time.

After eating polishing the rest of his apple, Roger went for the shelves. They even got a lot of toys.

He pulled out a box full of wooden blocks. At home, Ma always helped him build castles and towers. He concentrated in piling them as high as he could.

"You're a rabbit."

Roger turned at the voice. A little girl was looking at him while holding a doll. He gave her a big grin.

"I'm Roger Rabbit!"

The little girl frowned. "Rabbits don't go to school."

He looked at her in confusion. "I'm in school."

A little boy clutching a toy train soon joined them. "How come you've got long ears?"

Roger beamed. He knew the answer to that one.

"Because I was born thi –aahh!"

The little boy had suddenly yanked one of his ears.

"Hey! He's stretchy!" he exclaimed, getting the attention of the other children.

Feeling both curious and envious, the little girl tugged his other ear.

"Hey!" Roger protested.

But more of them grabbed his arms, pulling him apart.

"He is stretchy!"

"Wow, he's so furry!"

"I wanna touch him!"

"Grab his leg!"

"Me first!"

"He's so fluffly, I'm gonna die!"

"The tail's mine!"

"Aaaauugghh!"

Claire who had been busy taking care of a tot with a nosebleed, raised her head at the commotion. She gasped at the sight of the rabbit being stretched almost to the four corners of the room among the pulling, yanking children.

"Kids! Let go of the toon!"

Her voice boomed. Surprised, the children let him go. Unfortunately, one kid was a little too late to let him go and Roger flung towards him like a rubber band.

"Oof!"

The boy got knocked down on the ground. But Roger sped past, still burning with momentum. He bounced against the wall to the ceiling and ricochet everywhere like a bullet.

The children screamed when he blast near their heads. Chairs and tables were knocked down and up-ended, vases shattered and the cabinet crashed at his inertia.

He finally rolled on the floor, stars swirling around his head. He shook his head and the stars disappeared to reveal a shocked audience before him.

He looked around at the broken vases, the scattered children's furniture and the messed-up posters on the wall.

He caught the wide-eyed fear of the teacher as she clutched some of the huddling kids.

A wail broke out. Followed by another, wanting to hug the teacher. One child shouted.

"Bad rabbit! Get out of here!"

Fear gripped him there. The air was thick with it. The room was filled with glares and tears.

"Yeah!"

An eraser board flew at him; he dodged as toys, trash and anything they can reach hurtled towards him.

In blind panic amidst the shouting and the throwing, Roger turned tail and ran.

Right through the wall.

**XOXOXOXOXOXO**

It all happened in less than ten seconds.

CRASH!

Principal Briggins startled out of his incoming nap.

"What in tarnation-"

Screams can be heard outside. He hurried to his window and gasped.

The explosion hadn't yet settled when a bur streaked across the playground.

Little children scattered everywhere as the blur hit a swing seat and dragged the whole swing set along with ease, harrowing deep gashes on the ground.

He could only watch helplessly when the blur slipped between the slide's ladder and the slide.

The swing set did not.

CRASH!

Hands cupped his ears at the tremendous clash. More children screamed. But the blur even went faster as it hit the wooden fence.

Splinters flew everywhere as the blur, swing set and slide crashed through it.

The blur finally slipped through the chains of the swing set and disappeared into a meadow.

Mouth hanging open, hair suddenly disheveled; Principal Briggins could only stare at the chaos before him.

**XOXOXOXOXOXOX**

"Doggone it, John! This is the reason why I don't want him in the school in the first place!"

Roger sat, white as sheet in his mother's arms. They were inside the car. But Roger could hear a truck coming from north-west-west a mile away. He could hear a mouse sneeze to the east in the meadow. Three building from the school's left; he could hear clinking dishes and running water.

He could definitely hear a man's voice along with his father's inside the building.

"He was scared, Tom! That teacher should have been looking after the children better!"

"He was scared? He was SCARED? What about the other children, John?! Jeezuz! Do you think they got scared?!"

Roger's lip trembled, feeling worse than before. He curled against Ma tighter.

Had he been bad?

He had been bad. He was sure of it.

The man sighed and Roger can feel the stress on that exhale.

"Look, it happened. The parents will NOT be happy."

"My son has the right-"

"Do you know what will happen if they found out your kid blasted through a wall, two playground properties and a fence?" the man interrupted. "Everyone thought there was a bombshell!"

There was a squeaking noise like cloth on glasses.

"There would be a scare, John. Out of the kids' mouths and those parents would be marching in, demanding to have your son removed. Be thankful nobody got hurt with his blast. There were children playing _outside_ when it happened."

Silence met the man's words before Pa spoke.

"If he can control it, it won't happen again. We'll make sure of it."

"If," the man interjected, the stress sounding out the punctuation marks. "I only agreed to this because you're my friend, alright? You're lucky I got this place insured. If you really want your son to be schooled, transfer him to the one for Coloreds."

Roger could hear Pa ground his teeth. "I scouted it, I hated it. Their facility is lacking at the most."

Roger sank lower in Ma's arms. He's in trouble, he knew it.

"Look," Pa's voice said. "If he can control it, can he go back here? I just want the best for him."

The man's voice turned cold. "If you want the best for him, you should have returned him back to ToonTo-"

"Shut it," Pa growled.

Roger whimpered at the threatening sound, burying his face in Ma's neck.

**XOXOXOXOXOXO**

The drive back home was a silent one.

Diane looked worriedly over her shoulder. Roger was hunched over his seat; ears drooped down to their lowest point. He had always been a sensitive boy.

She looked at her husband whose hard eyes were steady on the road. She never told John but she could tell Roger could palpate other people's emotions. He could even tell her when one of their farm animals were sick, satisfied or pregnant based if they were happy or sad.

Even behind John's stoic mask, she knew their son could sense his mood.

The problem was he wouldn't know why.

She reached out to Roger with a comforting hand. He looked up.

Diane smiled at him. _It's not your fault, honey._

Her baby gave her a weak smile before retracting back to his own world.

When they reached the house, she led him to the kitchen for some homemade chocochip cookies and milk.

John went to his study and didn't come down until dinner time.

**XOXOXOXOXOXO**

Roger sat on his bedroom floor, playing with his toys. His "beddy" bear was a cowboy and he's about to chase down the bad guys.

Bad guys.

Had he been bad?

"Son?"

He looked up to see Ma and Pa on the doorway. Pa sat on his bed and patted the space beside him. Roger immediately scrambled on the spot and Ma sat on his other side.

"You won't be going to school for a while," Pa said.

Roger felt himself relaxed at those words. He didn't think he could face them tomorrow.

"There's a fire," Pa continued, "and it would need to die down."

Roger nodded although he didn't see any fire. "Okay."

"Hey, honey," Ma said softly, "do you want to know a new song?"

His ears perked up. "A song?"

"Yes, dear. It's actually a nursery rhyme. Your father made it."

"Sure!"

His father took a deep breath. "Okay, Roger. Repeat after me."

**XOXOXOXOXOXO**

Diane watched Roger as he skip rope. He bounced more than twice his height while singing; the rope rotated several times before he touches the ground.

"_Whatever comes up must go down_

_No one blurs when they run around the town_

_No living thing can bounce like a ball_

_No living thing can survive a fall_

_No big thing can fit in small_

_It will hurt when you run on a wall_

_All of these are impossible!"_

"What's the matter, honey?" John asked, standing beside her.

She sighed. "I don't know, John. I feel like we're cutting off a part of him."

John squeezed her shoulder reassuringly, his jaw tight. "It's the only way he could stay with us, Diane."

Roger's school incident had spread in town like wildfire. Many have went to school to see the damages caused by a tiny toon.

Days passed by. The rhyme's catchy tune made Roger sing it over and over again. Time goes by as the rhyme took heart.

His bounces become lower and lower.

One day, he could only jump as high as any little boy could.

Roger ran, tugging John along, no longer a blur.

"Papa?" Roger asked in confusion at his father's sad face.

But John only shook his head. "Nothing, son. What is it that you're going to show me?"

Life goes on and they have him home-schooled, mainly by Diane.

John and Diane deliberately threw all their magazines with toons with it. They avoided tuning the radio with programs about toons. The town's newspaper, thankfully, have no comic strips.

Since most shopowners wouldn't allow coloreds _or _Roger into their shops, Roger never risked seeing a comic book.

When a theater house was built in town, they didn't let Roger go with them when they know a cartoon short was showing.

Roger's incident was never mentioned again.

And Roger never remembered.

**XOXOXOXOXOXO**

Roger woke up with a gasp.

_Go to the bathroom. Now._

Heart pounding.

Breathe rapid.

_Not again._

He scrambled out of the hammock. In the darkness, he could see Wile still and sleeping.

_Not here._

_Not here._

Straight into the safety of the bathroom, he locked the door.

Roger leaned against it and slowly slid down the floor, hugging his shaking frame.

Gasping, he tried to control his breathing.

_In. _

_Out._

_In._

_Out._

His heart was pounding painfully against his chest.

Fear was clutching him, making it hard to breathe; choking him.

Roger bit down on his ear, focusing on the pain, grounding him to reality.

_It's not real._

_It's not real._

_There's nothing there._

His chest rose and lowered as he fought for control.

Eyes started to sting.

Fear. Confusion. Fear. His eyes widen, refusing to close. If he did, he'd see the dark abyss inside his soul, consuming him.

Teeth bit down harder on his ear.

_Shut down._

_Shut down._

_It's the only way to make it stop._

_Numb. Think numb._

The overwhelming fear was there again. Like a person standing too close behind you. He shivered.

Wide eyes become blank. Knees started to ache against the cold tiles. One hand on his chest, he raised the other, looking at his shaking hand.

_Not again._

**XOXOXOXOXOXOXO**

**Author's Notes**: John doesn't know it but he had applied a mind-control technique on Roger: whatever is repeated again and again becomes a commonly held belief. The phenomenon is called **memory distortion**. A chant can even block the analytical part of the brain, forcing it to accept the chant's message.

I hate to say it, but according to my research, color segregation was strong during Roger's time. So yeah, the teacher meant well, but she's also a racist. It's just how it is.


End file.
